


All I need is a pair of wings

by ninemoons42



Series: Trouble Times Three [2]
Category: Shame (2011), Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Law Enforcement, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	All I need is a pair of wings

  
title: All I need is a pair of wings  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: approx. 2460  
fandoms: X-Men: First Class [movieverse], Shame, Wanted  
pairings: Brandon Sullivan/Wesley Gibson/Charles Xavier, Brandon Sullivan/Wesley Gibson, Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr  
rating: NC-17  
notes: Sequel to [Man in Motion](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/193219.html). Written for [](http://madsmurf.livejournal.com/profile)[**madsmurf**](http://madsmurf.livejournal.com/). Modern AU, no mutant powers with the exception of Wesley Gibson, and what if Wesley and Brandon were an item, and what if they ran into versions of both Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier along the way?

  
Now that they've kind of made their bones, now that they know a little bit more about certain agencies' tendencies towards plausible deniability, the jobs get simultaneously easier and more difficult - or at least that is all the comment that Brandon manages to pry out of Wesley. Almost six months to the day after the New York job, Erik asks them, very nicely, to go after a tiny woman with a nearly unpronounceable name somewhere in the Philippines, and the complexities of the job mean they eat up four solid weeks on planning and blueprints before Brandon finally pulls the trigger, with Wesley acting as his spotter.

Erik returns the favor when Wesley and Brandon attack another Fraternity stronghold somewhere in the mountains of Chile: not only does he send in three agents to help them out, all of them armed to the teeth - but he also shows up as the backup, carrying a bazooka and several blocks of C4.

In between jobs, Erik keeps in touch. An email or a quick text, intel on an operation or on an objective, gossip and commentary. Since Brandon's in charge of most of the initial phases of mission planning, he's usually the first to read the messages, and he passes everything on to Wesley and laughs to himself as he transcribes the replies.

The latest message comes in over a self-imposed winter break; their latest target is snowed in somewhere in or near the Canadian Rockies. "Watch out for rogue C agent last name X. Be careful - E"

"That particular one's got fuck all to do with us," Wesley says, rolling his eyes. "Pissing contests or jealousy or whatever, we're not part of any agency, that was kind of the point."

"Unless by going rogue he means the agent's going after us," Brandon says, and he turns the laptop off, moves from the floor at the foot of the bed and into Wesley's lap.

He expects to get shoved away for his troubles, but Wesley does no such thing; he squirms around a little and tries to get comfortable, and then he hauls Brandon up by the shoulders and turns him into a bony sort of blanket/pillow thing.

Brandon goes, willingly, and smiles and presses a kiss into Wesley's shoulder once he's settled.

A comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crackle from the fireplace, the hard slap of snow and wind against the walls.

Brandon's about to fall asleep when Wesley mutters, "I don't care who comes after us. I'll get you out. I'll always get you out."

"And I'll always get you out, Wes," Brandon says quietly.

"Damn right you will."

Brandon laughs and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin under his cheek. It's good to be trusted, just as good as it is to have someone to trust.

Vaguely, Brandon wonders if Erik has ever trusted anybody.

///

Wesley watches Brandon move through his forms and he knows he has permission to look all he wants, now that he's pretty much the only one who watches Brandon anyway. Since colliding together, since placing a gun in Brandon's hands, Wesley has felt responsible for him, and isn't that a kick in the head?

He's not much for sentiment or introspection - if he starts up with that again he'll slide back into who he used to be, and he hates that Wesley with a vengeance, he'll do anything to make sure that fucking corpse stays buried - but he almost wishes he could offer Brandon some sort of reason to be happy. More than just making him master the intricacies of a martial art, more than just telling Brandon he's not allowed to fuck up on a job when he's going in to do some wetwork and Brandon is the sniper backing him up.

He trusts Brandon with his life, all things considered, before and during and after a job and when they're on the run, as they inevitably are.

He just wishes he could actually tell Brandon that.

He says nothing, though, and he simply toes off his shoes and taps loudly on the mats, three times.

Brandon immediately swings around to look at him and drops into a fighting crouch, and Wesley smiles his killer's grin and charges him - and he runs right into Brandon's defenses. Thoughts flow away; there is only the two of them.

If Wesley believes in anything, it's this: the reality of the two of them, the reality of this never-ending crash into each other.

///

Brandon centers the target in the crosshairs and he breathes, slowly, deeply, and on the third exhale he murmurs, "I've got him."

"Whenever you're ready," is Wesley's response.

He'd like to look over his shoulder and grin; he'd like to make jokes about Wesley taking this entire job too seriously - but Brandon merely settles further on the mats, tracks the rifle just a hairline down.

When their target turns his head - there, there, perfect - Brandon fires, and in his mind's eye he watches the bullet drop, just as they calculated, and then - the man goes down, chest blossoming vivid crimson even through the scope and Brandon thinks he's allowed to smile now.

Except the shadows being cast around him are shifting and moving, and he doesn't think. The sniper rifle is heavy, and his arms are shaking with cramps, and somehow he manages to get to his feet, to swing it up. He's still got a round in the chamber, doesn't he?

Whisper of movement - toward Wesley! Brandon catches his breath, needs to move, needs to protect....

Time freezes. Thin line of bright sharp pressure at his throat, not yet quite enough to nick the skin, and he blinks and looks down into almost a familiar face.

"You know me," the man who isn't Wesley says, and Brandon has never seen that smile before, never seen blue eyes like that before.

He's a little terrified now.

Thank goodness for the arm snaking protectively around his waist, then, and for a very familiar accent. "Down, motherfucker. Nobody holds this man at knifepoint but me."

Brandon wishes he could laugh.

Instead the man with the knife smirks some more and then - flash of movement, the knife disappears and the man who isn't Wesley raises his hands and steps away. "You want to tell him to put that rifle down?"

Brandon looks at Wesley first, and doesn't care who knows it.

Wesley growls, and then mutters, "Yeah, Brandon, I got your back, he tries anything stupid I'll shoot." The hand with the H&K USP Compact is rocksteady, trained on the man in black. "Or, actually, he tries anything, you know I'll be more than happy to end him." To his doppelganger: "And what's this bullshit about us knowing you."

"You were told who I was, by a certain very handsome and very attractive Mossad agent," the man says. "Possibly he told you to run, too, if you ever saw me."

Now Brandon wants to laugh or cry or go into some kind of hysterics or start running, because - "You're the guy. Your last name begins with the letter X or something. Rogue CIA agent."

"As always, Erik is too kind to me. Charles Xavier. Pleased to meet you both: Brandon Sullivan. Wesley Gibson. You see I do my homework."

He puts the rifle down on the mats, and because he can't afford to lose Wesley, he draws his own Jericho 941. He doesn't point it at anyone, but he hopes he can be fast enough to cover Wesley if it comes down to a shootout.

"Seriously, I've come in peace," Charles says, hands up in the air, stance open and loose. "I'm just looking for information."

"We don't know where he is, so goodbye," Wesley snaps. "And even if we did, why the fuck do you think we'd help you?"

Those eyes narrow dangerously and for a moment Brandon thinks now is the time to aim - but then Charles suddenly relaxes and then he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I was only pointed in your direction," he says, and he shrugs one shoulder, half-turns away from them, and Brandon dares to put one hand on Wesley's arm, pushing the gun down and away.

Amazingly, Wesley lets him. "What's it gonna be? Are we?"

Brandon shrugs. "You decide." He thinks it over. "I'd like you to."

"I'm right here, you know," Charles mutters, half mutinous, just a few feet away. Close enough for Brandon to maybe try to lunge at him if he tries anything funny. He doesn't even have to ask Wesley to back him up; he knows he can draw and shoot in the time it will take Charles to put him down.

"We know, actually, funny how that works out," Wesley laughs. "Why do you think we're trying to stay five steps ahead of you?"

Charles shrugs and tilts his head, and looks petulant. "So help me. What do we do?"

///

The answer that Wesley's expecting is not Brandon looking away, and even in the dim light he can make out the brilliant blush lighting up the man's face.

And, okay, Wesley can take a hint.

Especially since he knows he's been reacting to Charles. Fuck it, but it does close the circle in a very strange way: they ran into someone who looks like Brandon, so why can't they run into someone who looks like him?

But he's never going to miss up a chance to mess with Brandon's head, and he grins and puts away his gun and mutters, "I'm not fucking doing anything till you ask, and you know it."

Charles, to his credit, merely folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, and holds his tongue. Wesley half expects him to say something in that idiot accent of his, and when he whips a glance at him he only sees Charles shrug, blue eyes filled with amusement.

Brandon is nearly shaking when Wesley walks over to him and takes his hand. "Ask, fucker. Seriously."

"You already know," is the quiet reply.

"I still need to hear it from you. Rules, remember?"

"All too well." He watches Brandon take a deep breath. "Not fair, you know. No one asked, last time."

"I don't ask, not ever," Wesley says, chuckling softly. "And if you really wanna be technical about it, Erik did."

"What about him?" Charles says, and Wesley's not surprised he's right there, just on Brandon's other side.

Brandon picks that moment to let go, and Wesley raises an eyebrow at him, and suddenly a smile lights up that austere face and the question is all of two words long. "Will you?"

"I'll take it out of your skin eventually," Wesley says.

Brandon actually rolls his eyes. "Tell me something I don't already know."

Wesley laughs - and then he takes a deep breath and reaches for his speed, for his strength, and tangles himself around Charles - Charles only struggles for a moment, good for him, Wesley thinks.

There's a soft gasp, the fuck if he knows who it was.

And Charles is a smart man, after all, because he looks over his shoulder and then he looks over at Brandon - and he laughs.

Wesley claims the first kiss, rough and bruising and still pinning him in place, and Charles opens up for him, willingly.

///

Brandon has absolutely no idea how they get from that rooftop to a hotel room - it turns out to be Charles's - all he knows is that Charles and Wesley are desperately alike. There are differences on the surface - the scar patterns, the voices, the way Wesley kisses as opposed to the way Charles does - but once they're all past that, once they're down to their bare skins, he can't tell them apart.

He's lucky, incredibly lucky - and in a moment of lucidity he thinks Erik's a fool, if he's trying to stay one step ahead of Charles. One step away - and what for? How could he pass up on this?

Brandon opens his eyes, and just in time - he shifts on the pillows, wrung out and wonderfully beaten, and there they are near the foot of the bed. He watches as Charles pushes Wesley gently onto his stomach, as Charles runs his fingers over the skin of Wesley's back, as Charles says something and Wesley manages to raise his head just far enough to mutter a response, to smile carelessly. He watches them and he hopes he'll be able to remember this moment for a long time.

He jumps, a little, when Charles suddenly says, "When you're done looking?"

"Let him," Wesley laughs. "I admit I run him pretty hard; he doesn't get a chance to see me like this."

Brandon knows he's blushing, and doesn't take his eyes away from them. Odd that he still knows how to blush at all, and he blames Wesley entirely.

But it's Charles who beckons to him and again, Brandon looks to Wesley first - and Wesley performs the exact same gesture, slowly uncoiling up from the sheets, and he goes to him first, smiles as Wesley smiles and reels him in for a slow kiss - and then Wesley turns him over to Charles.

Charles kisses him senseless, too, and he wonders what he's getting himself into when Wesley's arms wind around him from the back, and Brandon is drowning in them both - again, and as he has been, all throughout this.

///

Wesley isn't expecting anyone to break in and he's only the fastest to the draw when there's a faint scritch and a quiet creak and - there's someone else in the room.

The light from the corridor flashes off the knife in Charles's hand, fuck only knows where he'd been hiding that one, he thought he'd stripped him completely.

Brandon, too, is still lying down - but he's wired, he's ready to strike, and Wesley is a breath away from saying "Go" when he recognizes the silhouette in the door.

"I am not intruding, I hope," Erik Lehnsherr says. "My apologies. I could not get here sooner - oof," and there's a thump.

Someone's moved off the bed and someone's moved closer to Wesley, and he puts the gun away, opens his arms to a quietly sardonic laugh and a familiar warmth. He does still remember some of his manners, and he's not quite rested enough to demand to be let in or at the very least to watch.

"Later?" Slightly hopeful question from somewhere very close by.

Wesley presses a kiss into Brandon's matted hair. "If you like."

///

Brandon wakes up again, to a flash of Erik and Charles entwined, and just before he pokes Wesley awake he smiles, and thinks perhaps he was wrong about Erik after all.  



End file.
